


Untouchable (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

by alispropriisvolat



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Dominant Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin) Swears, One Shot, Possessive Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alispropriisvolat/pseuds/alispropriisvolat
Summary: Levi Ackerman is a crime boss of the criminal underworld in The Underground. He comes home late one night to find his girlfriend waiting for him.
Relationships: Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Reader
Comments: 15
Kudos: 145
Collections: Animae Galore





	Untouchable (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Before he dared to wear the uniform of the Survey Corps, Levi Ackerman carried the smell of dead cigarettes and dead men in the sound of his footsteps.

Careful, midnight footsteps; and thoughts, and doubts. They sounded bloody and guilty, hiding from the dark silence of the room. 

Her voice slipped out of the quiet. 

"Long night?" she asked him. 

He stood in between the sounds of another step, another thought, some more doubt. And the unmoving smell of his smoked cigarettes.

And she may have heard the small sound of his conscience. And maybe it was sorry before he smiled and said, "Yeah. It always fucking is." 

His footsteps approached the edges of the lamplight she sat in, next to her insomnia and across from a few sleepless sips of rum. 

She could see his grey eyes. Then, the rest of him. 

He carried himself neatly, in a quiet, calm, bloodstained manner: the strong shoulders of a businessman's respected attitude and the proud chest of a gangster's respected reputation; all well dressed in the expensive stitches of a tailored suit he didn't pay for. 

"All of my suits are on the house," he told her once. "They're either on the house or the house burns down." 

She watched him start taking his coat off. There was the smell of alleyway gunshots and contraband cigarettes on his hands as he undressed his guise, stained by the bad blood of bad business — the crime of business affairs and the business affairs of crime. 

He undid the buttons of his shirt. And underneath stood his tattooed posture — powerful, intimidating and notorious. And like always, she couldn't help but surrender and stare. 

Beautiful chaoses of ink; sewn across his body — into the strength of his arms, seaming the ripple of muscles in his back. They were stitched across his chest, embroidering his heartbeat with his identities: businessman, criminal, lover, murderer. His tattoos incriminated his body with his indelible loyalties to his crime syndicate — pledges in ink, and skin, and flesh. And he dared to wear them proudly. 

Levi took a seat in the lamplight and insomnia across from her and reached for her glass. 

"What are we drinking tonight, brat?" he asked.

"Rum," she said. 

He winced around its taste. The alcohol burned his voice, fraying its offended edges. "Don't you have anything else besides this? It tastes like absolute shit. Where's your bottle of sake?" 

"You drank the last of that last night." 

"Then I'll have anything else. Wine, maybe. Do you have that?" 

"Well, do you have any poetry?" 

"No, I don't have any fucking poetry," he said. Annoyance scalded his curses. "The fuck does it have to do with wine anyway?" 

She dipped a smile into her drink and told him, "Poetry has everything to do with wine, Levi Ackerman. Wine is for poetry and pleasure." 

"Then what's rum for? Parties and pirates?" 

She laughed. "Something like that. Sometimes it's for pain and penitence." Then she tucked her voice into a shiny, grinning whisper. "But on other occasions, it's for fun and fucking." 

First, she heard the beginnings of his smile — a small nudge against his mouth. Then he asked her, slowly, knowingly, "And what occasion are we drinking to tonight, brat?" 

She looked up at him, a grin still curled around her small voice. "Well, why don't you come here," she said, "so that I can tell you." 

And then he was kissing her against her seat, composedly then rough, then soft and savage — all of a sudden and all at once. And then again against the wall, and again and again in the sheets of her bed. 

Every part of him took its turn to have her — businessman, criminal, lover, murderer; composed and rough, and soft, and savage. He serviced her, screwed her, loved her, ravaged her. 

And she let him as she she arched into him, spread herself further before gathering around him closer, closer as her lungs emptied themselves into the syllables of his name. 

She laid there afterwards, with nothing but gasps slicing through her breathing and a warm satisfaction in the devastation of her body. 

Post-coital cigarettes were smoked between them, him leaned against the headboard, her laid across the other end — serviced, screwed, loved, ravaged.

She watched Levi's gaze linger on her, gently stroking her skin. 

"Aren't you glad that I didn't have any shitty poetry for you?" he said. A cigarette was burning from his smirking voice. "Otherwise, we'd be having wine and conversations about philosophy or some ridiculous shit like that." 

She looked up at him, smiled, and breathed in some smoke. "That would have done you some good — you especially, Levi Ackerman, to be reminded of the impermanence of our minuscule existence in this universe," she said. 

"Brat, take a look around you. This is The Underground — shitty, dirty streets and petty gangs, violence and chaos. You're in my universe. And down here, I'm untouchable, fucking immortal." His voice dropped to a whisper then. And it dared to grin and say, "In this fucked up universe, I'm their fucked up god. I'm what gangs philosophize about — that is if those shits smart enough to philosophize." 

She laughed and rested her forehead against his. He smelled like dead cigarettes and dead men. She kissed him, tracing her tongue along the nicotine on his breath, the audacious arrogance of his mouth. And she couldn't help but smile. 

"What about the universe out there, above us, where they have gods of their own?" she said. "What will you be out there, Levi Ackerman?" 

His smile smirked around his cigarette. Smoke climbed up his low voice. And she felt it, moving from her lips, along her jaw and tracing the shell of her ear. "Down here, up there — in any ridiculous universe you want to talk about," he said, "I won't surrender or die easily. I'd still be untouchable."

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly not sure what I'm doing but I grew up reading fanfic on AO3 and was inspired to add some of my own stuff on here.   
> I also submit pieces on Deviant Art under viresacquiriteundo, might upload those onto AO3 as well. That is if anyone actually reads this lol. 
> 
> If anyone is reading this, thank you for your time. Hope you enjoyed one of my favourite pieces :) 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated. xx


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